ll out in after years, a time
came when he was able to put Montalvo's advice to good use. All readers
of the history of the Netherlands know how the Burgomaster Pieter van de
Werff saved Leyden from the Spanish.

As for Dirk van Goorl, he sought his lodging rather tipsy, and
arm-in-arm with none other than Captain the Count Don Juan de Montalvo.

CHAPTER IV

THREE WAKINGS

There were three persons in Leyden whose reflections when they awoke on
the morning after the sledge race are not without interest, at any rate
to the student of their history. First there was Dirk van Goorl, whose
work made an early riser of him--to say nothing of a splitting headache
which on this morning called him into consciousness just as the clock in
the bell tower was chiming half-past four. Now there are few things more
depressing than to be awakened by a bad headache at half-past four
in the black frost of a winter dawn. Yet as Dirk lay and thought a
conviction took hold of him that his depression was not due entirely to
the headache or to the cold.

One by one he recalled the events of yesterday. First he had been late
for this appointment with Lysbeth, which evidently vexed her. Then the
Captain Montalvo had swooped down and carried her away, as a hawk bears
off a chicken under the very eyes of the hen-wife, while he--donkey that
he was--could find no words in which to protest. Next, thinking it his
duty to back the sledge wherein Lysbeth rode, although it was driven
by a Spaniard, he had lost ten florins on that event, which, being a
thrifty young man, did not at all please him. The rest of the fete
he had spent hunting for Lysbeth, who mysteriously vanished with the
Spaniard, an unentertaining and even an anxious pastime. Then came the
supper, when once more the Count swooped down on Lysbeth, leaving him
to escort his Cousin Clara, whom he considered an old fool and disliked,
and who, having spoilt his new jacket by spilling wine over it, ended by
abusing his taste in dress. Nor was that all--he had drunk a great deal
more strong wine than was wise, for to this his head certified. Lastly
he had walked home arm in arm with his lady-snatching Spaniard, and by
Heaven! yes, he had sworn eternal friendship with him on the doorstep.

Well, there was no doubt that the Count was an uncommonly good
fellow--for a Spaniard. As for that story of the foul he had explained
it quite satisfactorily, and he had taken his beating like a gentlema